Cereal Killer (27 page)

Savannah thought of the clothes in the living room and decided to broach a touchy subject. “Kevin, I hate to ask, but... was your marriage a happy one?”

“Yes. Why?”

He didn’t sound all that convincing, but considering what she had recently seen and heard, she wasn’t surprised.

“Were either of you seeing someone else, outside the marriage?”

He looked her straight in the eye and replied evenly, “Caitlin and I had an open marriage.”

“I see,” she said just as evenly, without breaking the gaze. “So that’s a yes?”

“Caitlin had many lovers. I believe she was having a fling with her photographer at the time. A guy named Matt Slater. ”

‘Yes, I know Mr. Slater. Had that been going on for a while?”

“Not long. Cait had a pretty short attention span when it came to that sort of thing.”

“Was it... going well? To the best of your knowledge were the two of them on good terms at the time she died?”

“I doubt that the affair mattered much to either one of them,” he said. “I suppose they were still friendly, if that’s what you mean.”

‘Yes, that’s what I meant.” Savannah paused, weighing her next words before speaking. “Forgive my candor, Mr. Connor, but have
you
been seeing someone recently?”

She wondered if he would blatantly lie to her, considering that they both knew she had seen the women’s clothing in the living room. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time somebody had looked her square in the eye and told her a whopper.

“Yes. I’m seeing someone,” he said.

Savannah instantly gave him Brownie points for honesty. But she questioned whether he would have been so truthful if his sweetie hadn’t left her breeches on the couch in plain view. It was one thing to be forthright about your spouse’s liaisons, and quite another when it came to your own.

“May I ask who she is?” Savannah said.

“You can ask, but I won’t say.”

“I wish you would tell me. It could be important.”

“No. The lady I’m involved with is married and has children. Her marriage isn’t open. Not every couple can handle that sort of arrangement in a mature manner.”

Savannah entertained a momentary mental image of how “mature” she would be if her husband decided to “open” their marriage. It involved a flurry of activity that included multiple whacks to the head with a skillet, digging a deep hole in the backyard under the magnolia tree, and that same magnolia tree blooming profusely the next spring, thanks to all that additional unfaithful-hubby fertilizer.

“That’s true,” she said. “Not a lot of people go for that anymore.”

“Besides”—he glanced over his shoulder toward the sliding doors—“her identity isn’t important. She’s a very kind, gen tie person. She’d never hurt anyone.”
Except maybe her husband and children, her family and friends, if they found out about you,
Savannah thought.

She could tell she had taken Kevin about as far down that road as he would be willing to go. She decided to try another tactic.

“I understand that you’re taking legal action against Charles Wentworth III.”

His face flushed dark with anger. “I sure am. I’m suing him and Beekman and Dr. Pappas. They were all complicit in her death—pushing her to jeopardize her health so that they could make a buck. They didn’t give a damn about Caitlin, as long as they made money off her.”

“Do you think they were involved in Kameeka’s death or Tesla’s disappearance?”

“I don’t know. That’s for you and the cops to figure out.”

Savannah glanced at her watch. It was already past eight, and she had a lot of ground to cover before the day was over. “One last thing, Kevin,” she said. “If you were me, where would you concentrate your efforts on this case? If someone did deliberately murder your wife, who would you put your money on?”

“Leah Freed.”

That one took Savannah by surprise. “Oh?”

“Yes. Wentworth and Beekman and Pappas might have contributed to her accidentally killing herself, but if she was outright murdered, I’d bet on Leah.”

“Why?”

“Caitlin was furious at Leah for getting her into that contract, and the day before she died, she told Leah that she was looking for another agent.”

“And how did Leah take it?”

“Like she was a spurned lover. She figures she made Caitlin everything she was, that she owned her. And Cait was talking to the other girls about leaving Leah, too. Kameeka and Tesla were seriously considering going with Cait to another agency—one in L.A.”

“Hmmm.” Savannah mulled that over for a minute. “Are you aware that Leah has hired me to investigate this case?”

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Leah likes to know what’s going on, and she knows you’re friends with the police detective who’s in charge of the case. Knowing her, she’s probably been pumping you to find out everything you know, right?”

Savannah didn’t reply. She wasn’t going to tell him about all the persistent, insistent phone calls from Leah, night and day. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she had been thinking along the same lines as Leah squeezed her for information.

She rose from the table. “Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate your time and your input.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m glad you came by. If there’s anything else you need, give me a call.”

“I will.”

He escorted her through the house to the front door. Shaking his hand, she said, ‘Just for the record, Kevin... I’m with you on that lawsuit. If you can prove that those guys pushed Caitlin into ruining her health, all for the sake of an ad campaign, I hope you win a bundle. And I hope it makes the lead story on the eleven o’clock news.”

He grinned broadly, and it occurred to Savannah— not for the first time—that Caitlin Connor had been married to a very handsome man.

An open marriage, huh.?
She chuckled as she left the house and walked to her car, thinking of that magnolia tree in her backyard bursting with buds.
Nope. Not this girl. No way in hell.

Chapter

19

A
fter Savannah left Kevin Connor’s house, she drove to her favorite doughnut shop on Main Street and ordered a large coffee and a couple of maple bars. Sitting in her car, raising her blood sugar and her serum caffeine, she phoned Tammy to see what was happening at home. Tammy informed her that Leah Freed had called twice already, insisting on the latest update.

“And it’s not even nine o’clock yet,” Tammy complained. “That woman is the most irritating client we’ve ever had.”

“How quickly you forget,” Savannah reminded her. “We’ve had some extremely difficult clients in the past. Remember the one who turned out to be the killer?”

“Yeah, but at least he didn’t call constantly,” Tammy replied. “And he behaved like a gentleman... except for that killing part.”

“Is Marietta up yet?”

“She just ran out the door. She’s headed for the mall. Said she’s going to buy herself a cell phone so that she can call What’s-His-Face.”

Savannah took a long, stiff drink of the coffee and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling it hit her bloodstream like a shot of much-needed adrenaline. “I’m surprised,” she said, “that she didn’t try to talk you into giving her one of the phones.”

“Oh, she did! Big time! In fact, I had to lock the two extra ones in my car trunk, and I kept this one beside me all the time. Even took it to the bathroom with me.”

“Good girl. You get a raise.”

“A raise, huh? Yeah, right. If I had a raise for every time you gave me a raise...”

‘You’d probably be all the way up to minimum wage by now.”

“Exactly. Listen, I’ve got to go now. Dirk gave me an assignment.”

Savannah smiled. The kid sounded so proud that it touched her heart.

“Doing what?” she asked.

“He wants me to tail Tumblety today. Isn’t that cool?” Savannah felt a twinge of misgiving, like a mother hen who worried that her chicken-little might be pecking off more than she could chew. ‘Yeah, it’s cool. Be careful, huh? That guy’s creepy. And you’re not exactly inconspicuous in that hot-pink VW Beetle of yours.” ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mama Savannah. I’ve learned from the best.”

“Who? Dirk? He’s not the best. He just thinks he is.”

“I meant
you. ”

“Oh, all right. Take care of yourself.”

“Bye.” Click.

End of conversation,
Savannah thought.
Simple as that.
She laid the cell phone on the passenger seat beside her and picked up the maple bar. She took a bite, sipped some coffee, and sent a silent prayer heavenward.

Lord, I’d consider it a personal favor if you'd keep an eye on the kid today for me. She means well, and she’s plenty smart, but sometimes she trusts people a little too much. And you can't trust people any further than you can throw ’em. But then, I guess You know all about that.

Her phone rang. She put down the maple bar, wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, and answered it. “Hello.”

“I just got done talking to Wentworth,” was Dirk’s opener. “He stinks, but I don’t know if he’s killed anybody lately.”

“Yeah, well, I just left Kevin Connor. I’m pretty sure he had a girlfriend upstairs.”

“Oh? Already?”

“More like
still.
According to him, he and Cait had an open marriage.”

“Open? Like they both fooled around whenever they wanted to?”

“That’s it.”

“Sounds like good work if you can get it. Most women I know wouldn’t go for it, though.”

“You think?” She sighed. “I’m going to go over to Desiree La Port’s house now. See if I can find her at home.”

“That’s a heck of a drive all the way to Arroyo Verde. What if she’s not home? Maybe you should call her first.”

“She’s not exactly the friendly type. I have a feeling that if I called first, she’d make herself scarce. I’ll do better if I just show up. Besides”—Savannah grinned— “if she’s not at home, maybe I’ll just make
myself
at home and look around a little. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I didn’t hear that.” Click.

Savannah shook her head.
One of these days I’ll have to teach these Yankee heathens some manners,
she thought as she licked a blotch of maple frosting off her wrist.
At least how to properly begin and end a telephone conversation. Now... where did I put that other maple bar?

* * *

Savannah should have been able to make the thirty-mile drive to Arroyo Verde in half an hour, but a traffic backup on the Ventura Freeway turned the simple jaunt into a two-hour ordeal. Whizzing along at a breakneck speed of zero to ten and back to zero, she cursed the California Tourism Board for making Southern California seem so darned attractive to the rest of the country.

Every other license plate was from out of state, and half of the bumpers sported cutesy stickers declaring that the family inside had recently visited Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Magic Mountain, or Universal Studios.

Not that she minded seeing children wearing Mickey Mouse ears or even adults with Donald Duck caps, but did they all have to drive on the same roads as she did?

When she finally reached the small, affluent town of Arroyo Verde, her doughnuts had long worn off, and her stomach was telling her it was time for lunch.

That's the problem with eating carbohydrates,
she thought.
In a little while your blood-sugar level plummets and then you just have to eat more to get it back up there again where it belongs. Yep,
she decided,
I should have bought half a dozen of those maple bars while I had the chance instead of a measly two. What was I thinking?

And she was getting downright shaky by the time she finally located the tiny house that was barely more than a shack far off the paved road on the outskirts of town. Whatever sort of home she had expected a successful model named Desiree La Port to live in... this wasn’t it.

She hadn’t anticipated that Desiree’s place would be as impressive as Caitlin Connor’s, or necessarily as tidy and inviting as Kameeka’s. But she hadn’t imagined the snooty Desiree living in a dump.

The little cracker box of a structure was in desperate need of some paint, having once been white but now a dingy, peeling gray. The yard didn’t have a single blade of grass, just weeds that had never seen a mower blade.

Apparently, Desiree didn’t feel the need to haul her garbage all the way out to the main road for pickup, but left it in fly-infested piles only a few yards from the house.

The only sign of prosperity on the property was the new Lexus parked in front. Savannah had seen Desiree leave the shoot the other day in that car and had assumed she was a woman of means. But if this was her address, as the Department of Motor Vehicles said it was, her vehicle was part of a façade... along with her upturned nose.